


Tomorrow is Today

by honey_wheeler



Category: The Gardella Vampire Chronicles - Colleen Gleason
Genre: F/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 11:28:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5415080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/pseuds/honey_wheeler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wakes from a dream of him to the feel of him in reality. The dream had been relatively chaste: his hand on her neck, his lips brushing hers, a smile in his eyes as he drew close to her. Reality is decidedly not. </p><p> </p><p>  <i>Warning: Spoilers for the Gardella Chronicles series</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Tomorrow is Today

**Author's Note:**

> Set at book 4, _When Twilight Burns_ , during Victoria and Max's first night together.

She wakes from a dream of him to the feel of him in reality. The dream had been relatively chaste: his hand on her neck, his lips brushing hers, a smile in his eyes as he drew close to her. Reality is decidedly not. His mouth doesn’t buss hers in a kiss, but rather sucks at the juncture of her shoulder and neck, firmly enough to leave a mark. Though his fingers stroke, it’s no innocent touch; instead they move between her legs, his fingers a vee, her body responding with desire even in her sleep.

“Oh,” Victoria sighs, stretching back against him. The feel of his bare chest on her back is still a novelty. She wants to rub herself over him like a cat.

“I couldn’t wait,” Max says simply, no apology, no shame. For all that he’d kept himself from her for so long with a vigor bordering on ascetic, he’s astonishingly accepting of all of…this.

“Don’t ever wait if this is what you have in mind,” she says. The implication of a future between them is in the words, but she ignores it, hoping he will as well and being rewarded when he only drags his fingers over her more swiftly, his mouth moving to her throat, her earlobe, the sensitive spot just behind it.

She should feel bothered, that he would take such liberties with her asleep and defenseless. She shouldn’t feel thrilled, desired, aroused nearly to the point of pain. Really, what she should feel is sore, inside and out. He’s been relentless in his need for her. Each time she woke in the night, he was ready for her, hard for her, no matter that he’d spilled inside her only an hour ago. He’d reached for her again and again, like a man addicted, stoking the fires in her body so thoroughly that she’s been in a constant state of heightened arousal from the moment he carried her to his bed and slid into her again even as he was following her down to the mattress. Whatever soreness there is only feels good, somehow, _right_ , like the well-earned exhaustion of a training session, or the exhilarating fatigue of stopping after running a long distance. A vis bulla is good for many things, it seems.

His fingers work over her – inside her – as nimbly as they’d ever worked a stake. Two curve inside her, stroking, beckoning, while he rubs circles with his thumb, a combination with such devastating effects that Victoria’s nearly ready to beg him, to plead, to offer him anything if only he would assuage this sweet, painful, gorgeous ache inside her. But somewhere in the back of her head, she knows that it’s more than his touch that makes her feel so desperate and urgent. It’s _him_ , and now that she’s allowed herself to look at her love for him head on, she knows nothing will ever soothe that sweet ache away completely. She will always need from now on. She’ll always love.

“Come for me, Victoria,” he rasps, the words rough with his ardor. The hand he has beneath her snakes up to cover her breast, stroking and squeezing it in time with the fingers moving between her legs. “Let me see you come.” Her body responds gloriously, breaking apart in a shower of sparks and colors that only deepens when he levers himself to his knees and hauls her roughly onto her own, sliding into her from behind while she still quakes and pulses.

Her mouth stretches in a soundless cry. Is there no end to her pleasure? Desire seems a bottomless well, bliss an artesian spring, forever renewed at his every touch. Almost instantly her body tightens and breaks apart again, and she bucks back against him, her elbows sinking into a pillow, her ankles alongside his calves, tangling in bedlinens.

“Christ, Victoria,” he grunts, his voice raw with passion. Gone are the slow, languid strokes of before; now he pounds into her with desperate need, sweat from his chest falling in droplets to her back to mingle with her own. For several long moments, Victoria simply rests on her elbows and receives him, floating between satiation and desire. Once again, she marvels at his strength. It’s no wonder he was so formidable as a Venator, if he's this powerful as an ordinary man. The heavy movement of his thrusts is rhythmic, almost hypnotic, and she finds herself nearly lulled into a dreamy state.

Until, that is, he leans forward to set his teeth to her shoulder, bracing himself over her with one hand while the other slides down her belly, tugging momentarily at her vis bullae before finding just the right spot to stroke and circle as he drives into her. She explodes around him again, crying out as she clenches and throbs around him almost painfully, feeling her body pulse with a pleasure that seems to reach into her marrow.

“Max,” she gasps, falling forward, feeling his weight against her back as he follows. Without hesitation, he rolls them to their sides, the same way they’d started. But now he’s inside her and he continues his thrusts, though they’re slower now, less frenzied. Easily, he hooks his arm under her knee, pulling her leg up and back, opening her to him fully. The angle has him hitting something, some magic spot buried deep, and she cries out his name again, for the moment no more than a creature of pure, raw feeling. He finds his release only moments after she dissolves in ecstasy once more, the two of them shuddering together, their bodies locked in intimate union. He is hers and she is his. She knows it as much as she’s ever known anything. He’ll fight her – and she almost looks forward to it, frankly – but even Max can’t change the truth.

This time, it’s he who sleeps as she watches and wants. He looks beautiful in repose, softer and younger than he seems when he’s awake. Even as she aches from hours of lovemaking, she wants him again, possibly more than she did before. Perhaps _she’ll_ wake _him_ with her lips and tongue and fingers, perhaps she’ll pull him against her and demand what she knows is already hers. But for now she only watches him sleep, and for the first time in forever, Victoria is content.


End file.
